Multiple Choice
by ghost partayy
Summary: Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another...if I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice! Joker-centric one-shot. Spoilers for TDK. Rated T for violent images.


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman franchise._

**Multiple Choice**

_"Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another...if I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice!"_

_-The Joker, as said in the graphic novel, The Killing Joke  
_

Choice A

My younger sister was very promiscuous. Of course, she was very beautiful. She had long, golden hair, bright blue eyes, full, cherry red lips, and a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells. She was extremely popular with men of all ages.

She was also as dumb as a doormat. And she let herself be one.

So, as her older brother, I made it my duty to protect her from all the evil and lecherous men of the world. I felt that she deserved my protection, that she deserved a man that would cherish her not just for her looks. Someone who would take care of her.

She didn't like that. Not at all.

She despised me; told me I was being too cautious. That she didn't need me sticking around her all the time. I was a loser to her, the lowest of lows. She was perfect, and didn't need me tainting her reputation.

I warned her, always warned her about how men could be. She didn't listen, always choosing the ones who would hurt her the most.

I dutifully sent them away with a black eye or broken limb. They never came back, and my sister never appreciated what I did for her.

One night I followed her to a club. She wasn't supposed to be there, and I was going to take her home. I pulled her out of the crowd of me surrounding her, and she wasn't pleased. We fought. She didn't understand that she could get hurt my these men, that 'only wanted to dance.'

She didn't understand that she needed to learn from her mistakes and listen to me!

She ended up pulling away from and left the club out the back entrance.

The men that attacked her didn't like that I wanted to protect her. They had two men hold me as they made me watch my sister get defiled, and afterwards, when I tried to fight back against them and give them what they deserved, one of the men took out a knife from his pocket and put it in my mouth.

"Why so serious?" He asked me. He pulled the knife against my flesh until I was smiling.

My sister never looked at me again.

* * *

Choice B

From the moment I was born, I had been repeatedly told by my mother that my father was a bad man. I never understood why, but believed it anyway.

I had never met him. My momma told me that she had never told him of me because she didn't want me to get hurt. I trusted her, and was grateful of her.

One day I found out just how bad my father really was. Someone knocked on the door, and my mother told me to hide in the closet.

I watched through the slats as she opened the door to let in a dirty, misshapen man who I had never seen before in my life. I had no idea who he could be because we never had visitors and my mother had never said anything to me about any of her friends.

I didn't know why I had to stay hidden. The man looked tired and weak, harmless, and even nice to me.

At least it seemed like that at first. My mother smiled nervously and it occurred to me that she might like this man. It never crossed my mind that she might be afraid, I had never seen my mother scared, so I didn't know what it looked like on her face.

They sat down at our kitchen table and were drinking coffee. My mother's face gradually relaxed.

Then the man noticed one of my toys on the ground. It was a rubber dinosaur. For a moment I wished I had been a good boy and picked up my toys like my momma had told me to.

The man scowled and started yelling at my mother. They both stood up from their seats. They were talking about me, and I didn't know why. I didn't know why that man was so angry and my momma looked so upset.

I don't know how long I listened to them scream at each other, but by the time the man went towards the stove I was getting very upset myself.

When the man lifted a pan off the stove and swung it at my mother, I let out a cry. I remember jumping out of the closet when I saw my momma on the floor.

The man was still there, though. He grabbed me up from my mom's side. I don't think I had ever seen anyone that angry. He looked more angry than my mother when I didn't finish my vegetables.

He called me his son. I didn't know if it was true but I had a nagging suspicion it was because he was so mean.

He frowned at my crying, for by now tears were running down my face and I really just wanted to see if my mother was all right.

He asked me why I was being so serious. He told me he would make me smile forever. He took the knife from our cutting board and carved into my face as if he was carving into a turkey on Thanksgiving.

It hurt a lot. I don't remember anything after that. I woke up to my mother screaming.

My momma gave me away after that and I never saw her again.

* * *

Choice C

I fell in love for the first and last time when I was in high school.

She was perfect. Beautiful, smart, funny. She was everything I could ever want. She even accepted me as I was. She didn't care that I was a little strange.

She was the one.

Her father didn't like that, though. Her mother had died when she was little and her father was too used to her taking care of the house. Making meals, doing laundry, listening and obeying him every second of the day.

I told her she was worth more. She eventually got to believe me. I was glad. She was so smart – she was capable of doing anything she wanted and I made sure she knew that. I wanted what was best for her, even if that was leaving after high school and not seeing me for four or more years.

I just wanted her to be happy.

Her father thought otherwise.

Her father was angry at her for having any kind of ambition. He wanted her to never leave. He took her for granted and assumed she would always be there to take care of his lazy ass. He didn't want to have to pay for college when she wasn't going to stick around.

I told her to apply for colleges anyway. She didn't need to take her father's shit any more. She didn't need to take care of him – he needed to realize that he could survive without her just fine.

She was so happy the day she got accepted into every single college she applied to.

I was so happy for her. I knew she could do it.

We celebrated that night, drinking some champagne and making love on her couch.

When her father came back from work, he found both the acceptance letters on the counter and us on the couch.

He was not happy for either of us.

He yelled at both of us, telling his daughter that she needed to take care of her responsibilities at home and couldn't afford to have silly dreams like going to college. He told me I was worthless, that all I succeeded in was corrupting his daughter, convinced that I was a bad influence on him.

He told us both that we needed to take important things more seriously, and that we were wasting our lives.

He knocked out my one true love and when I ran to her unconscious form, got out his pocket knife and told me he was going to teach me a lesson.

I told my love that we could run away together and that she didn't have to live with her horrible father any more, but she couldn't bear to kiss my mouth ever again.

* * *

Choice D

In my senior year of high school, I was named valedictorian.

My parents and relatives were proud. I was accomplished, unlike many of my family who only had just barely graduated high school.

I thought I was friends with a lot of people back then. One of those people was the salutatorian. I thought she was happy for me.

Unfortunately for me, her jealousy outweighed her friendship with me.

I was having the time of my life. I was the smartest person in my school and for once was accepted by the majority of the population of my school. I assumed it was the same for her.

Her family, though, was not happy with her ranking. They were competitive, and unlike my family had almost all been at the top of their class and gone to ivy league colleges. They were not satisfied with her being second best. They shunned her, disappointed, and for the first time in her life she was alone.

If only she had talked to me, it would have been different. I truly considered her one of my best friends, but she resented me and thought I was being too haughty and conceited about my accomplishment over her.

The difference between her and me with our studies is that I never let anything distract me from getting the work done. In summary, I had had no life for my almost four years of high school. She, on the other hand, enjoyed attention and partying a little too much to completely focus on her studies. I tried to explain to her that fault and that if she just took a break from her crazy lifestyle she would pull ahead of me in rank.

I would've gladly given her that.

But she just couldn't give it up. One night after partying especially hard she came to my house. It was obvious she was on some kind of drug, maybe even more than one. I had never tried any though, so I didn't know how to help her snap out of it.

She yelled incoherently at me. I couldn't understand the words but the meaning was clear.

She was going to get revenge on me for being "better than her."

I tried to convince her that what she was doing wasn't necessary. She wasn't better than me, she was much kinder and caring, and people always loved her automatically.

She didn't listen to me. She asked me why I was so serious and told me I needed to loosen up a little bit.

Suddenly she had a knife and I was frantically trying to convince her to put it down. The drugs somehow made her stronger, and I was helpless against the piercing sharpness of the blade.

No colleges accepted me after that.

* * *

Choice E

No one will ever find out how I came to be the Joker.

I choose to give people a variety of options, leaving them to guess which one is true, or make up their own theories.

But I could change the story a thousand times and it still wouldn't be true.

Was it my mother? My father? A girl? Some random thug off of the streets?

Or did I do it to myself?

Do I even know how it happened? I'm not really sure anymore. I only know that I'll try my best to have people like you never find out my answers.

Why do I tell my stories? To keep people guessing. To make people understand the consequences of being too serious. To trick and scare them.

Will you be the one to find out the truth?

Maybe.

But then again maybe not.


End file.
